


Empty Chair

by 1treehill



Category: Mindhunter (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst and Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 05:55:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15657111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1treehill/pseuds/1treehill
Summary: Holden Ford contemplates his life and his relationships after his collapse.





	Empty Chair

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of nonsense just because I'm waiting impatiently for season 2.

Holden Ford awoke to find himself in a hospital bed. He wasn’t sure how he got there. He felt tired, but otherwise fine. Then he noticed the IV and the bag of clear liquid hanging over him. He watched the liquid dripping slowly into the tube that led eventually to the needle in his hand. Fluids? Maybe he was dehydrated.

The room was devoid of any other people. No nurses, no doctors. Nobody sitting in the chair next to his bed, waiting for him to wake up.

In a sudden rush, Holden remembered everything. Visiting Kemper. The killer’s poetically worded threats of violence against him. The hug. The panic attack.

So, probably fluids, but then also some type of tranquilizer or anti anxiety medication. Or maybe both. He felt calm enough, though less so as time passed. Nervousness was creeping up on him quickly. Did he still have a job? Did he have a girlfriend? All signs pointed to no on both counts. He thought about Debbie’s face after he announced that she was breaking up with him. He remembered the relief that flooded him at the time, getting the jump on her by predicting her words before she had a chance to say them. Now his actions seemed creepy and passive-aggressive.

And what had he been doing in Ed Kemper’s hospital room? He looked down and saw his right hand trembling. With a strange detachment he noticed his increased respiration and tears springing to his eyes. Oh, another panic attack? Really? He couldn’t seem to help but let it flow over him. Soon he was barely breathing and he saw spots forming behind the veil of tears.

A quiet alarm began beeping next to Holden’s head. Summoning the troops, probably. Instead, one nurse quietly walked in, injected something into his IV port, then finally made eye contact. “You’re awake. A doctor will be in to see you soon. Just breathe deeply. I gave you something to calm you down.” Then she turned around and left the room.

Holden felt the drug enter his veins and the calming of his entire nervous system, the heaviness of his body. Why couldn’t he just be on this medication all the time? Never having to be upset again sounded good. But he was still agitated. 

Kemper played him so well. The murderer knew Holden would come when summoned by the fake suicide attempt and designating him as medical proxy. Just a different but far more effective Hallmark card. Holden had never felt more stupid in his life. Or more confused. What did he expect from Kemper? What did he want?

Holden stared at the empty chair next to his bed. By now he was sure the Behavioral Sciences division and the FBI in general knew about his behavior and consequent breakdown. They must all be so disgusted. Bill and Wendy and Greg had already expressed disdain and exasperation towards him, going back at least to the discussion about Principal Wade. He felt a cold, dark throb in the pit of his stomach when he thought about his coworkers. Would they forgive him for putting the entire project in danger? Would they care that he had a complete mental breakdown?

If Holden allowed himself to be totally honest, he most likely lost their friendship long before he booked the ill-advised flight out to Sacramento by himself. 

He admired Wendy greatly, and his initial infatuation with the beautiful, intelligent doctor had grown into genuine admiration. Dr. Carr’s opinion mattered. It was true, he really did not mind being around women who were smarter than him. In fact, he somehow preferred it. By now, all her worst assumptions about Holden’s character and abilities would be accepted as fact. Holden took a quick, shaky breath, imagining a slightly curled lip showing the contempt on her face.

Holden couldn’t care less what Greg thought of him. Though the man had proven himself at least competent at his job, Holden still had suspicions about him being Shepard’s mole.

But then there was Bill. Just the thought of his name brought the tears back into Holden’s red, tired eyes. Bill had been his friend, or as close to a friend as he’d had in a long time. Road school could be very dull and monotonous, but the constant car rides and airplane trips, just the steady contact they had with each other naturally led to a feeling of closeness, physically but also emotionally. Sure, there were many instances of Bill clearly being frustrated and impatient towards Holden, but he couldn’t think of many people in his 29 years of living that didn’t have that attitude towards him.

Bill Tench was an interesting man and a highly competent agent. Bill was definitely the best partner Holden ever had. They worked interrogations like a finely tuned machine, using intuition to follow where the other was leading. When the two partners bounced ideas off each other, Holden felt a kind of warmth that he assumed was a part of friendship. He hadn’t had many friends in his life. It felt odd, but good, satisfying. He never took Bill’s barks of exasperation too seriously. Holden had always known he was difficult to deal with and was fairly used to that kind of reaction.

When Bill invited he and Debbie over to his house for dinner, Holden’s nerves were shaky, but it was still nice. Like Debbie said, the whole thing seemed so adult. Bill and Nancy warmly welcomed them into their everyday lives, even allowing Holden to experience some of the tensions woven into the complex relationships between the married couple and their young son.

But lately… Bill seemed more disgusted than ever with Holden. The young agent recalled accusing Bill of being jealous that he wasn’t named in the newspaper article and winced with actual pain. From a bit of a distance, Holden could now see his behavior becoming more and more arrogant and selfish. He had felt as though he could get away with anything, and more so, that he deserved to.

Holden glared at the empty chair and suddenly felt his stomach drop, as though he were on a roller coaster.

Holden supposed he could call his parents. Then he actually scoffed out loud. He might feel less alone without them there.

Holden’s mind wandered to Roger Wade. Was he the reason the man was fired? Perhaps in a passive-aggressive manner. He couldn’t assure the school board that Wade’s behavior wouldn’t escalate. Wasn’t that the same thing as saying the principal would most likely turn pedophile, or at the least, abuse his position of power in some way? Wasn’t that what Holden wanted to outright say? Seems Wade’s wife was right. Holden had ruined the man’s life for what he might possibly do in the future. 

Holden sighed and covered his eyes with his hands, unconcerned with the IV in the back of his left hand. 

Was Bill no longer his friend? That disgusted look of disbelief had been appearing more and more often on the older man’s face. Holden knew about Bill’s troubles with Brian, and he should have been more understanding when Bill took steps to spend more time with his family. Instead Holden had called him a pussy for not wanting to return to interview Brudos. 

Bill also thought the interviews were not affecting Holden at all. Frankly, Holden had agreed with that assessment at the time. Suddenly, in Holden’s mind he saw Kemper looming in front of him, all 6’9” of him, and the beefy arms reaching around Holden’s body. He recalled the fear, the animal fear, the tears, the temporary paralysis. Who was the pussy now?

Holden turned his body away from the closed door, curling his legs up a bit. Nearly fetal position. But he was aware enough that this approached being dramatic and somehow he was undeserving of such a position of self-comfort. So he stretched his legs out a bit. 

But nothing could stop the tears from returning. Holden was drowning in self-disgust warring with self-pity, and he felt like it would lead to another panic attack. So he drew breath in slowly, held it for three seconds, then blew air out gustily. He continued to do this until he felt slightly more in control.

When it came down to it, Holden realized he had no one to turn to for comfort. And it was his fault. His life had tumbled down so low and he had become so… aberrant that, when he lost his girlfriend and most likely his job, he flew across the country to see… Ed Kemper, mass murderer and necrophile. Holden’s remaining ounce of humor allowed a chuckle to emerge, but it sounded sad even to his own ears.

He wished Bill was sitting next to him, worrying about him, waiting to take him home. Then he felt like a spoiled child. And then he felt spectacularly sad. He couldn’t wait until he felt nothing. Maybe he would ask for more tranquilizers. There was a call button wrapped around the railing of his bed. Holden reached for it, stopping for a brief moment as he worried about being a nuisance. Then the need to see another human being became so intense that he all but slammed on the button.

Holden expected a nurse to respond quickly. But after five minutes, still no one entered his room. For God’s sake, he couldn’t even get attention from a floor nurse. Finally, a tired looking young man in smocks entered the room. “How can I help you?” The male nurse’s voice was dripping with frustration and a bit of sarcasm. Holden just stared at him for a moment, wondering if the word “asshole” was tattooed on his forehead.

“I’m feeling really anxious. I was wondering if I could get something a little more strong in my IV,” Holden finally asked.

Holden thought he saw a half an eye roll from the nurse. Then, “Well, your doctor’s notes do allow for a higher dose of clonazepam, so I’ll get it for you.”

After a few minutes, the nurse returned with a young female nurse. They spoke over Holden about going to lunch with friends while the hypodermic was plunged into his IV port. Holden felt invisible, forgotten, unreal. But then he experienced the now-familiar warmth enter his veins and exhaled heavily and allowed his eyes to close. All he wanted was for the world to go away. No, he wanted himself to go away.

The two young nurses left the room, and Holden allowed the unrelenting tears to return, the drugs dissolving any dignity he had left, and he found himself sobbing, his arms crossed over his stomach.

Deciding sleep was the best option, Holden attempted to calm his sobs down to gasps and hiccups. Then he heard the door open. Holden groaned and refused to turn over.

“Holden?” It was Bill’s voice. Holden whipped his head around, instantly making him dizzy. He closed his eyes to regain equilibrium.

“Bill? What are you doing here,” Holden blurted out before he could stop himself.

“What? Are you okay? What did that piece-of-shit Kemper do to you?” Bill looked so angry.

“I didn’t think you cared!” Holden shouted, to his own horror and amazement. “No, I mean, he— Nothing. He threatened me, hugged me. I was scared. You weren’t here.” Suddenly Holden regretted the stronger dose of medication.

“Holden, it took me a while to get across the country. I don’t understand what you thought you were doing seeing Kemper by yourself. And while we’re under review by OPR. That’s maybe the dumbest thing I’ve ever known a person to do. What the fuck is wrong with you?” Bill took a deep breath and sat heavily in the empty chair.

“You’re here,” Holden said simply.

“Are you okay?” Bill asked.

“I’m better,” Holden answered. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too, Holden.” Bill looked relieved.


End file.
